


'til no space lies in between

by toneelspeler



Series: theory of mind [5]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toneelspeler/pseuds/toneelspeler
Summary: this boy. oh this boy.--even's perspective on isak valtersen.





	1. Chapter 1

If there’s benefit to transferring to another school in your last year, it’s that no one will get the opportunity to know you as well. People have created long-lasting bonds by now, and within a few months you’ll be done with school, forever. So there’s no true need for you to get too much involved. And that’s fine; even preferred. After what happened at your last school, you think it’s better not to get too close to anyone.

There’s only one person who knows you at Nissen; the little sister of one of your… old friends. When you see her one day in the cafeteria, there’s a nod of understanding. And that’s all. No one else knows you here; so you turn up the charm to get some friendly connections – always good to have during test weeks – but you’re unsure you can deal with anything more at the moment.

Until you leave your last class of the day, saying goodbye to a few friendly faces, when you hear a soft giggle from a boy standing at his locker, looking at his phone in his hands.

\--

You had wondered sometimes, after what happened, if you were truly attracted to guys before; if it was all just something your brain told you to do, or if the butterflies in your stomach when you looked at him were actually there. After what happened, you don’t think it was a lie, but then there’s still your girlfriend who’s there for you when no one else was. Who goes to every appointment with you, and asks the doctors questions that hadn’t even come up in your mind.

And you’re scared to admit it, to be honest towards her that _this isn’t working anymore._ You’re scared to be on your own.

But this boy. Oh, _this boy_. If you weren’t sure before then you’re certainly sure now, staring at him from across the schoolyard, joking with his friends. If this was a movie, then the soft notes of a romantic song would start right now; swelling and exploding when finally, _finally,_ the boy looks back at you.

But that’s not exactly what happens.

\--

The days at school trudge on; the conversations about your… predicament lead to some leniency at school, the teachers are fairly nice, the students include you as much as they can, and the amount of homework is not that different from Bakka.

You haven’t made contact with the boy yet; you don’t even know his name. For a while you debate with yourself about sketching him in your green notebook – surely that is going too far, right? But in the end, you decide it’s harmless. Daydreaming about blonde, curly-haired boys; it’s alright. No one’s interested in your notebook anyway.

You’re sketching him – an absent look on his face, curls poking out from under his hoodie, focused on his buns – when someone familiar shows up. Her friend is eagerly telling you about a revue group, stumbling nervously through her obviously rehearsed speech and you can’t help but laugh.

 _Bingo_. You feel his eyes, you feel him staring, and you suddenly know.

It’s not just in your head.

\--

If you were really honest, you’d say _fuck it_ to the kosegruppa meeting and go to the movies by yourself. But that moment in the cafeteria sparked your interest, so you decide to go to see if the boy’s going to show up.

And he does; he’s already sitting there, staring at you. He’s got an open spot right next to him, perfect for you to sit down and casually introduce yourself. But you don’t; you sit down behind him, playing hard to get. It fails miserably when you realise that he’s gone to the bathroom instead.

Well, if there’s anything to tell your grandkids later is that you met in a toilet stealing paper from the dispenser, and then you offered him weed – the perfect love story.

You _may_ be a little too overexcited if you’re already imagining grandkids. One your way outside, you begin to doubt coming here in the first place; what if you scared him? What if your perception of him was entirely off? What if he just has eye problems that make him stare at people for long periods of time and it was not because he thinks you’re cute?

Then he shows up. A brush of hands exchanging the joint. It’s awkward and undefined, no one really knowing what to say because this feels significant. Jokes and quips, and even interruptions by a first year don’t stop you from becoming more and more intrigued.

You didn’t want to get too close with anyone here, didn’t want to know names. Suddenly, the boy has one.

Isak.

\--

You keep searching for him – in the halls of school, in the cantine at lunch, and even on social media. You find videos of him rapping; and being around a skateboard boy and a girl with ridiculously long hair; of him doing the duckface with a girl in his arms.

You wonder what his story is.

\--

After only seeing him once in the schoolyard, fate gives you a helping hand and places him right next to you in the tram home.

In your windowsill at home, you’re not just intrigued. You’re enamoured. He’s got a mischievous side to him, and he clearly needs a lesson in ‘90s hip hop. But it’s easy. You’ve never clicked with anyone so quickly before. And you think it should scare you; it almost seems too easy and too good to be true. This doesn’t – _shouldn’t_ happen to people like you. But it doesn’t scare you.

Maybe that is the scariest thing of all.

Then you feel him staring; you feel _seen_ , almost bare, and you feel it straight to your spine. If only you had a camera, to take a picture of _this_ moment to keep for cloudy days. To keep feeling the same serenity as you do right now. You want to let him know you.

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours.

The serenity between the two of you turns into panic, when you remember who’s coming to visit. You pretend not to notice his face falling the moment you introduce her as your girlfriend.

Fate’s always been a fickle mistress.

\--

He leaves his maroon snapback behind, a faint reminder of the afternoon you spend together. You don’t forget the panic in his eyes when you ask him if it’s his; you suddenly realise that whatever happened that day, it’s not for the public, his friends, to know.

You wonder if it’s fair of you to make him confront himself about who he is; you – the boy with a girlfriend you can’t leave, because you’re scared what will happen without her.

You wonder if he showed his true self to you, that Friday.

\--

 You invite Sonja to the _kosegruppa_ party because you know that she’s been worried and bored; a party might be the catalyst to brighten her up. The moment you step into the apartment, _his apartment_ , you realise it was the wrong move to make.

You keep searching his eyes, keep trying to make eye contact. You can’t help yourself; you want to move closer, and closer, forcing him to look into your eyes. To feel seen again. To see _him._

You tell him about your relationship, and as you go – you wonder if he realises that you’re really talking about you – the therapists, the year-long progress from then until now. His eyes keep wandering, looking back and forth between you and the ground. And suddenly you’re teasing, you’re laughing, you’re moving close and then it all stops.

He’s not looking. The air has shifted; and you just _need_ , you _want_ to let him feel you. A step closer, bowing your head, feeling the brush of his hair against your temple and –

It turns out it wasn’t meant to be just yet.

\--

It’s like no-holds-barred after getting so close; your annoyance with your girlfriend reaches an all-time high, since she’s constantly trying to join in or occupies your time with questions and orders. She even invites herself and the first year girl to your pre-party with him, the one moment in the week you felt like you were able to make decisions for yourself.

You get that she’s worried, that she’s scared, that she wants you to be okay. You wish you could say you didn’t understand, but you do. So arranging a double date is not exactly your idea of a fun evening, but you can’t say no.

By the time you’re at Kollektivet, you wish you had. She knows it too, monitoring your intake of beer like she does at every party you’re at. You don’t even really feel guilty when she leaves to go to the bathroom; you take it as a sign to leave.

\--

You never imagined yourself to be in this situation again; alone, with a boy who makes your heart pound and sing and stutter all at once. He’s so _beautiful_ , with his curious eyes, his lips in a teasing smile, and hair curled around a golden laurel wreath – a sign of victory.

The last time you tried this, you remember not wanting to live afterwards; wanting to throw everything and everyone away without really understanding why you were reacting this way. When you were finally diagnosed, people were glad, they could _understand_ and now they could _help_ you. You felt everything and nothing at the same time.

In this moment, with your heart stuck in your throat and submerged underwater you’ve never felt more. More at home, more at rest – more _okay._ Isak makes you feel okay.

You never felt more victorious and happy to be alive than when he kisses you back.

\--

His room smells like chlorine for a while, until you decide to move your wet clothes to the laundry room and he gives you some of his clothes to wear for the night. It makes you like him even more; wrapped in his wonderful smell and hoodie with sleeves that are a little on the short side. When you kiss him once more to thank him, he pulls you down on his bed and wraps himself in your arms.

For the first time in weeks, sleep comes easily.

\--

You don’t leave his bed for the rest of the day. It’s daunting to realise that it took six weeks before you slept next to Sonja for the first time, in her bed. But staying in Isak’s bed, nothing felt more alright.

It’s something about him; you’ve never felt so intensely for someone before. The intense need to hold him, to know him, to care for him, to breathe him in. The way he talks makes the world make sense; even if you don’t understand his words sometimes. He’s smart, and conversations never become boring with him, always taking a surprising turn. Then there’s the way your lips fit together; the way his top lip always stick a little to yours. The small details make all the difference with him.

He tells you about his parents and you ache for him; for sixteen year old him, who felt the need to run away just to not be at home anymore. You feel his hurt, when you realise that even his roommate isn’t allowed yet to know about you, even though you know this particular roommate would understand him the best.

You can’t tell him about what you have, not yet. You’re unsure whether you truly understand it yourself, so you’re glad when he tells you about parallel universes to get your mind off of your brain. It seems scary to you; worlds where everything that can happen will happen, worlds where you don’t fall in love with her or with him, worlds where fate decided you didn’t have a brain like yours. It feels cruel.

And then she calls, bringing you back to this world; where you’re confronted with a choice between two people – a choice that is frightening you. So you ask if you could stay, in here, with his clothes on your body, and his body in your arms, forever and ever. He tells you yes.

The next morning, you leave.

\--

You take Sunday to decide how to go about the process of breaking up with someone; you’ve never done so before, especially not a relationship that lasted so long. On Monday, you walk her home from work and you tell her about your feelings for him and ask her for a break. You didn’t expect her to accept it so easily. But the look in her eyes tells you that it’s not as easily as it may seem.

Your feelings of guilt overwhelm you; and you need a day to process everything that happened.

On Wednesday, you tell him – you ask him if you can be his, and he can be yours, and if his parents will be accepting to a boyfriend. You’re sad to hear his mother is barely in his life anymore; you can clearly see the hurt in his eyes and hear it in his voice. You cannot fault him for being resentful towards her. But while the word _crazy_ is not the worst thing you have heard before, the sentence _“I’ve decided my life will be better without having mentally ill people around me”_ is.

You – you cannot do this. Not to him.

\--

After you send that last text to him, you need familiar comfort; you text Sonja and tell her what happened. And she tells you what you already know. That you deserve better, that it isn’t your fault he decided this.

It doesn’t make you stop hurting.

She invites you to Emma’s party that following Friday, in the hope that you’ll not retreat into your shell. You accept, and for the most part the party is fine – you can laugh a little, see some familiar faces again, and drink some beer. When Sonja shows up, you’re glad to see she’s smiling, and – in a moment of pure habit – you kiss her back.

And it would be so easy to fall back into her arms, to let her take control over the chaos and hurt that you feel. But then you remember _his_ eyes that were always a little open when you kissed him, as if to make sure that you were really there – and you know that it isn’t fair to her to go back. She deserves better. Everyone deserves better than you. And this you have known from the beginning; you shouldn’t have been so close with people.

All you do is hurt them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter discusses suicidal feelings, specifically those before O Helga Natt.

Now when you look, you don’t see him anymore. He’s not in the cafeteria, nor in the schoolyard. In all objectivity, you know you made the right choice. The hurt in his eyes when he told you of his mother… you’d never want to be the cause of that.

The new pills you received just before starting school have found their way into the top drawer of your desk, you not wanting to be confronted with the fact that your brain is wrong, isn’t working like it should be. It’s easier to pretend; that you are not bipolar at all – because see, there are no pills that say you are and you don’t feel different with or without them.

Although you cannot see him at school, he makes a few appearances in your sketchbook. The smirk on his lips when he told you that the head of school doesn’t like him enough for fifteen percent; his scrunched up nose after you reveal your movie title and he called it pretentious.

And then, after he shows up at school again – the way his hoodie hid his face from your eyes.

\--

She arrives to get some stuff of hers that has been left at yours over the years. You can barely look at her, nervously twirling a joint between your fingers – so you close your eyes. It’s uneasy, but it’s done. You’re at least sure of breaking up with her, it had gone on for too long.

Ever since the diagnosis, she was your crutch – your caretaker. The girlfriend you had fallen so in love with at the end of ungdomsskole wasn’t the girlfriend she has become now. And it’s not her fault, not at all – it’s all yours.

When she asks you whether he knows about your diagnosis, you can’t even speak.

Of course, she’s right. She’s always known you better than you know yourself.

\--

The meeting in the cafeteria stuns you, for just a moment. It’s difficult to know what to say to a boy whose heart you broke, even if it was in his best interest. But now you see his face; his pale skin, and the bags under his eyes. He’s told you about his troubles with sleeping before, even though he slept soundly those nights when you were next to him.

You suspect he just needed someone there to sleep next to; to hold on. To touch.

Oh -- how you wish you could touch him right now; to brush your thumb across his cheek and keep the smile he makes after the kardamomme joke a little longer. You need to _talk_ to him. You need him to know –

The harsh brush of his shoulder against yours could not have felt colder.

\--

You miss him _so_ , terribly so. There’s a faint memory of his hair brushing against your cheek, the smell of his shampoo very distinct. You don’t deserve leniency, not from him, but you can’t help yourself.

Through putting a sketch in his coat, you hope that he will understand that you’d rather be in a parallel universe. A universe in which you’re eating the worst cheese toast imaginable, you’re happy to just be at his side.

The resulting text message brings some peace back into your body, which has been tense all over for days. That night, you sleep more than the two hours you had slept for the past few days. The feeling is familiar; but you keep that thought locked away. Nothing’s wrong if you don’t acknowledge it is happening.

 You decide that he’ll need more than just a text message back.

\--

It takes a few days to decide how you want to respond to his message, but since he liked your drawing so much – maybe that’s the way to go.

You’ve heard some rumours going around, about the two of you. The last thing you want is for him to have to come out without being ready to, or even wanting to. But instead of seeing him shy away, you’ve seen the bags under his eyes disappear over the past week or so, and him laughing with his best friend.

When he’s just around the corner, you push the drawing inside his locker.

\--

That Friday you’re wandering around town, too energetic to really calm down – too stressed about what’s happening between you and him. He hasn’t responded to your drawing yet, and it feels like he’s getting further and further away from you. Maybe it was the wrong move; you should’ve just left him alone.

As if by telepathic powers, he messages you – but it’s a harsher message than you were expecting. So now you have to decide; to stay away, or to come running. You see it as the very last chance, so you go running.

When you meet him at the door, you want to explain _everything_ ; what happened, why it happened and why it shouldn’t have happened. But once again, you lose all of your ability to talk.

He’s never looked prettier, or hotter.

\--

In the morning, your thoughts are jumping a little; from _how he looks so peaceful next to you_ to how _he’s probably not got anything in his cupboard to eat so maybe you need to buy something but oh you’ll also need to shower sometime soon because you feel sticky and your hair needs some serious shampooing before it decides to have a crappy hair day and you want to look good for him and god, dear god he looks so so hot sleeping!_

After a quick shower, you decide to make breakfast; you pull all you can use out of the cabinets and start with scrambled eggs. It’s nice to have his roommates join you a few moments later. They’re friendly, and sweet, and ask you about _you_.

But then he arrives; looking very freshly out of bed, and you can’t help but feel the need to kiss him, so you do. And you want him to eat your food, so you give him a taste. When you turn to finish breakfast; he keeps asking you questions you’d rather not answer.

That time of your life is done, over with, behind you. But you want to be honest too, because he deserves as much. The answers need to be pulled from the bottom of your stomach. You don’t want to talk about it. You’d rather focus on your future, the one you have with him.

The boy who takes your breath away when he tells you that you are the man of his life.

And you want to bury yourself; in his clothes, in his arms, in his touch, in his smell, into his body, never to let go again. You did so once and you don’t think you could ever do so again.

You want to give him everything, everything and more.

\--

In the next week, you begin to share everything with him – his food, his bed, and his clothes. You don’t even realise that he’s put you on his Instagram, until you get a worried text message from Sonja, asking if you’ve been taking your pills. Fuck those pills, you think, you clearly don’t need them. You’ve managed yourself quite well without them.

It feels like you landed into a movie moment; the moment where _happily ever after_ starts. There’s a need to be perform; to be the picture perfect boyfriend. You sleep in his bed almost every night, your sex drive rising to peak levels. You meet his best friends, and they accept you right away; hugging you when they leave. You even protect him from your ex-girlfriend’s phone call; she doesn’t know how you two are together. How much more real it feels – how much more real it _is._

There’s constant communication, offering help for studying and sending him songs and lyrics and funny pictures that you know he would like to see. You want him to feel loved, to feel nurtured, and to feel cared for, because you know how long he’s craved to have _this_.

_He deserves the best, he deserves it all,_ you think, as you confirm the reservation at the hotel.

\--

It’s cold, outside.

\--

There are no conversations.

No angry _Even, why didn’t you tell us?_ No disappointed _where are your pills?_

Only the embrace in your mother’s arms, and the brush of your father’s fingers through your hair.

There’s only a _let’s go home, sweetheart._

\--

Sending song lyrics to him doesn’t work anymore, all it does is push him away. Asking you to stop contacting him. And you oblige; you’d do anything for him – you just want him to be okay, because you can’t be. Not right now.

You don’t think it has every hurt this much before.

\--

Time goes by, every sound a punishment to your ears.

She shows up a few times, and it does feel comforting, somehow. It’s nothing that she hasn’t seen before. But whereas she used to ask and say things constantly, making sure that you eat and that you shower, she’s completely quiet now. You’re thankful that she leaves you alone.

One night, she shows your ringing phone to you and even your tired eyes can make out his name. It stops ringing, eventually.

And as if from nothing, it overwhelms you. It’s as if all the hurt of the past few weeks finally catches up to you, pushing down on your chest, seeping – bleeding into your entire body. And you so hide yourself away; submerge yourself under your duvet, where your exhaling breath creates heat and makes it a little harder to breathe.

You feel like a hurricane; swirling thoughts and feelings and actions, only laying destruction in your wake.

\--

His text remains unread until Friday, when you feel strong enough to get dressed and leave the house.

It feels like it did last time.

You say goodbye to him through text, in the bathroom where you met him for the first time. You remember his eyes looking at you, quizzically. The past few hours you hadn’t allowed yourself to think too much, but now you do, and you remember every laugh, every cough, every brush of hands and small intakes of breath. The gap between his front teeth, his suggestive raising of eyebrows; the heavy lidded eyes when he kissed you.

The way he loved you.

It’s time to go.

\--

You want to bury yourself into his embrace, into his body.

A world without him shouldn’t exist.

\--

The limbs connected to your body feel disconnected, and heavy; your head feels like lead, needing a few seconds to start working – to start realizing where you are. When you’re aware, he’s there. And you remember his mother, and how he looked when he told you about her; you remember your mental illness and how it becomes all that people see. You remember all the people you’ve hurt, and lost, people you cared for but shouldn’t have to deal with this, with you.

Then he tells you he’s not sad to be with you and all you can think is _not yet._

But he refuses, and his eyes are telling you he’s not letting this go. Tomorrow isn’t a guarantee, it will never be. But he’s made his choice, and it’s time for you to make yours.

_Okay. What do we do for the next minute?_

You kiss.

\--

He steals food from his roommates, gives you his clothes and his duvet, and even massages your feet one time when he notices they’re ice cold. He’s not pushy or exhausting, but always around doing homework or swiping through his phone – just to let you know that he’s there.

You ask one time who he’s texting, and he tells you it’s his mother, a soft smile on his face.

His roommates even keep an eye out for you. They try to communicate with you, to connect; and sometimes it works better than other times.

On Tuesday, it feels like you’re back at the beginning again.

On Wednesday, your head feels clearer. You’re able to take a shower on your own, putting on his softest sweatpants and hoodie; pulling up the neckline to breathe him in deeply. And even though he’s not actually there, you feel safe and at home.

When he arrives home, you can’t help but smile. You take a mental snapshot of the surprise in his eyes when you tell him about the meeting.

Of course, it’s not like everything is fixed by just being around him – you still feel the aftermath of depression, and you’re not entirely ready to go to a party filled with people you barely know. You lie and tell him that your mother wants you back at the house for a while, but he must’ve seen the panic in your eyes. He reminds you of the decision you made, together.

Isak makes the world make sense, and smaller. A tiny little world where it’s just the two of you, where you can breathe and rest easy.

You’ll never get tired of looking at him.

\--

You stay at Kollektivet for the next few days, calling your parents every day to discuss what will happen next – to inform school, and to visit your therapist to create some structure in your life.

Your mother calls you the evening of the party, asking you endlessly about him; to invite him over and let him have dinner with you all. She’d like to thank him for all he did. _He must be a wonderful person_ , she tells you, and you can’t help but agree vehemently.  

In the end, you arrive a little late to the party both because of the call and you having to prepare yourself to be under this amount of people again. But it turns out quite alright, it’s all fairly low-key. You wait until his friends have left to give him the hello he deserves.

Your relationship is not perfect. You’re still learning how you two are fitting together. Isak is still hesitant to kiss you in public, the result of years of repression and internalised perceptions; and you still have to learn and accept how exactly your brain works sometimes, and what your limitations are.  

But you’re willing to find out. To get to know _him_ , and let him know _you_.

Isak -- this boy.

 

_Oh, this boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come and find me @toneelspeler on tumblr. 
> 
> this is a difficult chapter, and i hope i did him justice. i didn't want to sugarcoat his experience, especially not during 9.10. 
> 
> as of now, the next chapter will try to encompass the entirety of s4.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: attempted suicide is discussed. if you want to read this anyway but want to skip this particular part: read until the ~~ signs, and start again after that section.

He asks you. He tells you that he’s found home, with you; that he’d never known how people could feel like that before, but now he does. He asks you, in the safety of his bed – underneath the covers, where you sometimes hide from the world and drown out every intrusive thought.

The question’s not entirely surprising, but it does surprise you that you accept so easily. Not that you are not wholeheartedly okay with the idea; you’ve been over at his place, in his bed, more than you’ve been at yours – and the sentiment of finding home in a person, in _him,_ is one you most definitely agree with. But your mind keeps prodding thoughts into you mind of your last relationship; you were with her for over four years and never felt the need to move in together. Now, you can’t wait.

The conversations with parents go relatively okay, on Isak’s side, and take a bit longer, on your side. Your parents aren’t against the idea entirely, but they want to make sure it’s for the right reasons. To make sure there’s a structure, a system, to help you and him when you need it. It’s not out of distrust, not at all – they trust you a bit too much sometimes – it’s out of concern. It’s as new for them as it is for you.

But eventually, you talk it through; the perfect place is found, moving boxes are filled.

And sitting in the back of the moving truck, with him – who can’t stop smiling, can’t stop giving you small kisses - you know.

There’s no place like home without him.

\--

One of the first decisions you made together is that you’d like to decorate a wall with pictures, with old ones from both of your previous rooms and new ones you’ve made over the past few months. The first one he puts up is one of your sketches – the one in which you told him you missed him.

_It made me hopeful that it wasn’t all just in my head, since I missed you too._

And he’s not trying to be romantic; he’s just being honest – but you feel your heart stutter a little, because you never expected him to keep those sketches. Especially not after four months, with so many ups and downs, and when you’ve made so many more sketches of the two of you.

But because you’re also twenty and seventeen years old, there needs to be some levity; some funny and inspirational pictures. So you keep on swiping through your picture archive on your phone, not looking all that intensely.

Until you see your pictures with them.

\--

Ever since school started again, Isak’s been less shy about touching you in public – a hand on your shoulder as he stands behind your chair, slowly curling his hand at the back of your head through your hair. One day, he pulls you into his biology classroom after you had walked him there. It’s not like you don’t see him enough, because you do, but it’s _exciting_ – getting to do _this_ , to be that couple that makes out a little in the windowsill; to be caught by a friend. 

It’s been wonderful to see his sheltered exterior disappear layer after layer; seeing him more open and more free, and overall, more himself. It’s all you could’ve wished for.

Although it would be nice to have him all to yourself, that afternoon. You’re only human, after all.

But then the bell rings, and you’re already done with classes for the day, so you give him a quick peck and tell him you’ll see him at dinner. You feel content; telling yourself that _these_ moments are also part of your life and they matter.

A quick look at a laptop screen when you walk by reminds you of the other moments in your life. Stalking away quickly, you sincerely hope only one thing.

You hope that he didn’t see. You’re not ready.

\--

Unfortunately, you realise very quickly that he did. At night a few days later, after dinner, he asks you again. About the _previous man of your life_ , and where he is now. And somehow, some way you manage to dodge the question. To redirect it to a question of how did _he_ know about his sexuality; what kind of boys did he like when he was younger. He asks you what you identify yourself as, and you tell him that you feel pansexuality – _pink yellow and blue_ \- describes you best.

These conversations manage to take out his vulnerable side; his barely whispered answers tell you he still struggles with it sometimes, but that he’s very much trying to shake the intrusive thoughts, and that he still talks to Eskild about it. You tell him you’re so proud of him, and he scoffs, telling you that _that’s nothing compared to how proud I am of you._

If only he knew how much you can’t seem to do.

\--

You see her one day at her locker, and in a moment of pure impulsivity you decide to ask her about Mikael, about Elias, about the boys. Their names feel weird on your tongue, as if they’re not supposed to be mentioned by you, not anymore. And you don’t know how much she knows, and what her brother had told her.

But when she’s joking about him living off of mom and dad, you feel settled. It’s a relief to hear, that life has gone on for them and that they’re doing well. Fond memories of the afternoons spent at the Bakkoush household surface; the kindness of her parents, and the wonderful food of her mother -- her letting you help with cooking, inspiring your own cooking for years to come.

It’s a rude awakening when your boyfriend arrives; as if there’s two worlds that aren’t allowed to collide, a painful anxiety in your stomach. You tell her that you’ll talk to her soon, but you already know you can’t.

Past and present, you are too scared to mix.

\--

He’s not asking you anymore.

Sometimes, there are moments - when he’s over at a friend’s place and gives you some time to work on your homework in silence and without distractions – where you cannot help yourself. It all comes rushing back; all your mistakes and regrets flash by, overwhelming you with guilt.

In those moments, all you can do is remember the breathing techniques your therapist taught you, to focus and center yourself, firmly on the ground. In and out, in and out.

You breathe. In, and out.

\--

On a day where you get to have him for yourself; where you haven’t left your bed, only once to get some food and drinks – you make a small video. Of him, holding your hand tightly, and him going in for a kiss while lying in your arms before clicking the recording away because you’ll be a bit busy.

Ever since that first day, lying in his bed telling him about your dreams and aspirations, you’ve had an idea. It’s slowly coming together.

But, because you can’t resist, you take his phone from him, snapping a quick shot of the two of you. Within minutes, with him trying to climb over your back to get his phone back, you post a quick picture of the two of you on his account. And even though he claims to be mad, and tells you you’re sleeping on the ground that night, he also does another thing.

He doesn’t remove it.

\--

In the spirit of thanking your boyfriend for all the care he’s provided you with over the past few months, you decide out of the blue to sing him a song in a crowded karaoke bar. There’s a lot of people, but damn them, it’s cute and kind of a cool story to tell later. You’ve always been a romantic at heart, he knows that by know.

And he smiles at you, a soft smile -- only for you. That’s all you need.

Until you see them.

Them, not in a picture, not in your memory. Them, in the flesh, standing a few feet away from where you’re standing. It feels like everything has been sucked out of you; your voice mutes, your breath hitches, and your mind completely blanks. You don’t hear anyone, or anything. You don’t see anything but them.

Until you feel his hand on your arm, slowly moving to tuck you into his side. He’s singing, a low voice encouraging you to stay here, to be here. For a few moments, you want to hide in his embrace, but when you hear his friends joining in you realise it’s okay. You’ll be okay.

When he brushes his hand softly through your hair, you feel it. So very, _very_ deeply.

You’re so in love with him.

\--

Mikael finds you outside, after you’ve told your friends that you wanted to get some fresh air. It’s awkward, and you feel panic rising in your breaths, fearing what he wants to ask or say. Fearing that he wants to know if the rumour’s true and if yes, why. You’ve barely come to terms with it yourself.

In the end, you don’t get the chance to say anything.

These two worlds, of old friends and new friends; of a life before and a life after – they kept threatening to clash. So when they finally do, you want to run away and never come back. But Isak’s there, and he’s spitting out blood that leaks from his nose, looking at his bruised fingers. And you can’t leave him. So you just focus on him; on this moment, in this minute, trying to get him to look in your eyes.

That night, with a broken nose and an eye that’s slowly turning dark, he sleeps in your arms.

You’re wide awake.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a week, you decide it’s time to tell him. You prepare what you want to say, and how, because you’re not sure you’re able to get through it all if you’d improvise.

You sit him down, on your bed, across from you – holding his hands inside of yours; a way to anchor yourself through the memories that you’d rather not confront. There’s the memory of kissing Mikael and him, afraid of what it meant; you throwing yourself into a religious text in a language you barely understood, because people found answers there and you’d hoped to find them too and you did and you posted the answers for the world to see. To tell everyone that you’re wrong, and what you felt is wrong, and from what you understood that text said it’s wrong, so you’re at least right in knowing that. Of your friends trying to calm you down but they couldn’t, they didn’t understand because you didn’t understand yourself. And it all build up to extremes, not stopping no matter how much you wanted it to – or maybe you didn’t want it to stop. You wanted to leave, to be left alone.

You wanted to die.

The memory of Yousef, finding you there. Of Sonja, joining you in every doctor’s meeting. Of your parents, suggesting a different school.

The memory of finding Isak, and what it meant to be loved. To be loved and cared for as a person, not as an illness.

When you’re done talking, your throat sore and your knuckles white from gripping his hands so tightly, Isak pulls your hands towards his face – his teary, red face - and kisses your hands, and your fingers, slowly making your fingers release their grip. He kisses your both of your palms, and puts them on his chest with his fingers intertwined with yours.

And he tells you _thank you_ , and he tells you _I am so very proud to be yours, and you’re mine, and we’re both still here_ , and you feel his heart beating beneath your hands as he tells you –

_Du er mannen I mitt liv, Even._

~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, he posts a picture on his account and he shows you afterwards, pressing his lips against your cheek in a tender kiss.  

_21:21._

\--

After that day, you feel an intense amount of relief and you sleep deeply again with your nose tucked into the intersection of his jaw and neck. On the day you return to school, you walk with him hand in hand, intertwined fingers and a freshly plucked dandelion perked on his ear. He’s been a bit self-conscious about the eye, and a bit afraid of what his friendship with Sana will be like when she returns to school.

You’ve tried to convince him that he’ll be alright and that she’ll be too. At school, you see her once sitting alone in a windowsill – with black painted eyes and dark lips that are screaming to leave her alone.

Every once in a while, he tells you how she’s doing and you worry a little. You can’t talk to her, not after telling him felt like ripping a whole other you to the surface who is vulnerable and fragile.

But you know Isak, and his care for people that he truly loves. He’s even taking the blame and wrath from people for a mistake she made, just so that she’ll know: he’ll never let her go through hard times alone.

He astounds you every day.

\--

_Hi Even. I just wanted to tell you that I talked to Elias, and he told me to say hi to you. I hope you’re well._

_\--_

You discuss your options with him, asking him if it’s weird to just call and he tells you no. He tells you that it’s okay if you’re unable to meet them face to face, right away; but a phone call can help you a little – to at least clear up the tension resulting from the fight.

So you call Elias, and he answers. You talk, for a while, and you tell him you’re sorry, that Isak’s sorry. And he tells you that he understands; it was the heat of the moment and both of your friend groups were just protective. It happened. They can leave it behind them.

You mention the party at Eva’s the following day, and he tells you they’ll be there. That it would be nice to hang out. You keep affirming, keep nodding, keep saying _yes, I’d like that too_.

The smile on your face is reflected on Isak’s as you end the call.

\--

When you arrive with him at Chris’ place, they’re already there, so you take a deep breath. Isak gives your hand a squeeze and looks at you, analysing your face to see whether you’re ready to say hello. You give him a tight smile – you are a bit nervous.

But then Mikael sees you, and walks towards you holding his hand out to say hello. And you can see it in his eyes; _all is forgiven. I’m glad to see you again._ A few minutes later, the rest of the boys come over and give you high fives, and slaps on your back and joking about how _Sonja has changed a lot in a year!_ ; and suddenly you feel the familiarity again, in their teasing jokes – you introduce them to a new part of your life, a boy called Isak, a boy you’ve been dating for months, a boy you’ve been living together with for a few weeks.

A boy who knows your past and present, now. A boy to spend your future with.

And they all smile, and grip his hand tightly, and say _nice to meet you, Isak_ and _how many times has he forced you to watch a Luhrmann movie_ and _sorry for that punch dude._

It all feels like it’s falling into place.

\--

Over the past few weeks, over the past few months really, you’ve assembled quite an interesting range of material for a small video; from doing dishes and cleaning laundry to hanging out in expensive suits on the floor of his room at Kollektivet.

A song is easily chosen, and the editing doesn’t take too long – only a small congratulatory message to make; perhaps when you meet him for coffee tomorrow, after school.

Now, arranging a birthday party for him to enjoy is another story – picking apart every location, party invitee, food, and drink before assigning them to a person to take care of it. You even made a group chat to message every one of his… _your_ friends in.

He’s turning eighteen soon, and he deserves a perfect birthday.

\--

A year ago, you would not have believed that it was possible. But here you are; after a year of heartbreak, recovery, therapy and coming to terms with a past that seemed to haunt you – you graduated. You are at the Nissen graduation ceremony, with your parents sitting on one of your sides, with Isak on the other holding your hand. And even though you’ve only been here for a year, your fellow students and the teachers congratulate you enthusiastically. On stage, the principal grasps your hand tightly for a second, telling you _Good luck with your future endeavours, Even_ with a meaningful look and a wink. You thank him for all of his help.

When you’re back with your family, your parents give you a quick hug and a _I’m so proud of you_ , _my sweetheart._ Your boyfriend throws his arms around your neck, and mumbles _you’re so amazing_ against your lips and kisses you.

In front of the entire graduating class to see.

\--

But while no one batted an eye during that night, on Wednesday you’re confronted with a slur that you hadn’t heard in a while. And it hurts, it does. Especially him calling you two disgusting, when he clearly knows nothing about you. There’s nothing disgusting about you kissing your boyfriend on a bench. It’s a public space; you have a right to be who you are. But you also know it won’t help to get as angry as your boyfriend is.

It’s his birthday. You’re not going to let it be ruined by an asshole.

 _Just look at me,_ you say, _focus on me – on my eyes, on my voice_. And beneath your fingertips you feel him returning to you slowly; and by kissing him you hope he’ll understand that you’ll never be scared into not kissing him anymore. In your embrace, you feel him exhaling deeply, and you feel him kissing you on the temple. And there he is, you think, calm again in your arms.

The boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater.

\--

It always felt like a movie cliché to you; that in a year everything changes for the protagonist, and that they’ll live happily ever after. That even though the world is harsh and unforgiving and lonely, that one person can change your life within an instant and all is good.

And in all honesty: it _is_ a cliché. Meeting him was a catalyst, but it wasn’t all easy. It wasn’t, and at times, it still won’t be. You don’t want to deny yourself and him the truth, because knowing what it took for both you and him to get to where you are now; it makes all the difference. And now, with a diploma, with old friends and new, with a job and a little bit of money, a planned trip to a faraway place, and a wonderful boyfriend who feeds you from his plate and kisses you when your mouth is full – there is only one thing on your mind.

You are not alone.

And you are excited to see what the future is going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come and find me on tumblr @toneelspeler!
> 
> hooo boy; it's finally done. now, i tried my best to adhere to the timeline and situations as established by s4 - although i would have loved to have seen a few different things!  
> i hope you enjoyed reading this; i'm so appreciative of every kudos and comment and bookmark you guys have left! thank you for reading! <33


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